A black hoodie shirt, dark blue jeans, black sneakers, and short, choppy black hair that was pulled back into a stubby ponytail. She would've been any other normal person in the crowd if it weren't for the intricate staff she carried on her person.
The mage was always basked, to the trained eye, in a pale blue aura. She was a master of her craft, arcane sorcery spanning from simple healing spells to damaging ones. So much so, that the mana she'd learned to control so well had forever stained her eyes blue, sharply contrasting with her dark skin.
Even she had her simplicity.
The Black Spot
It seemed mundane, but at the same time it stood out among the tacky neon lights and ear-raping music of other bars and raves. It wasn't overly-dramatic, a trait so many glorified.
The corners of her lips curved into a pleasant smile as she stepped in. She noted the faded, dried muddy footprint that was splattered in the middle of the door, but was pleased when she couldn't find any signs of chaos inside. In fact, inside the pub seemed almost deserted. Oh well. The door was open, so sooner or later something would happen.
She made her way over to the bar and sat down on a stool. Her elegant staff rested against her shoulder, so that the blue, blossom-like orb at the end was just behind her right ear.
((And now we play the waiting game...
))